Harry Potter's sixth year
by Raziel4
Summary: An insight of what Harry's sixth year at school should be... has a bit of everything, so... read as you please!
1. Chapter I

Writer's note: all the characters and locations related to the work of J. K. Rowling are purely subjects I used as a background. I'm not her and they are not mine, but this "fiction based on her own fiction" is, from start to finish, from my own head (in many ways, trying to complement her for the outstanding piece of work). This is my first idea of a book, anyway, it took a while to translate thoughts into words. The following events take place during the sixth year of Harry at Hogwarts. Everything that came to pass in the first five books of the series can be applied as background story. The complete tale should have at least 14 chapters (from my original plan). I repeat: THIS IS A FICTION BASED IN A FICTION. Hope that you enjoy it.   
  
CHAPTER I: A new beginning  
  
The rain was pouring down at Privet Drive. For nearly three weeks that was what everyone was expecting. The intense heat waves have been creating darker and darker clouds that, at that moment, lost their will to float around. The grass of the gardens, as dry as it gets, surely seemed to appreciate the moment. And at number 4, at the same street, a second-floor window appears to reveal someone else enjoying the water, as it begins to create small lakes wherever it lands.  
  
The boy at the window gives a small grin. 'It's been a while...' he says between his teeth. He's not quite sure why, but the rain has a calming effect over him. He plays a bit with his own hair, allowing a small lightning-shaped scar he carries in his forehead to be seen.  
  
Harry Potter gets up and walks towards his wardrobe. At its door, he stares at a man-size mirror hanging in the inside. His deep-green eyes meet his reflection trough his spectacles. He's not so sure he likes what he sees. Truth be said, he's changed. During the last three weeks he spent with the Dursleys (the closest thing he now has to a "family"), Harry has dedicated himself to many things he normally wouldn't. Exercising was a good example. Although Quidditch could be considered an amazing session of bodywork, flying in a broom was not an option at the moment. Also, he discovered, taking the body to exhaustion made him sleep easier... and even better, without dreaming.  
  
He figured his magical blood must've been acting as a "catalyst" for it, as well. After all, half of the injuries he suffered in life would have made a Muggle into pieces. And he was there, intact. With these weeks of simple, but progressive series of exercises, he already could see his body a bit different. He certainly didn't wish to become a mountain of muscles... he just wanted to get tired enough to throw himself in bed and wake up only the other day. Getting a bit stronger was, in his conception, a "side-effect". Undesirable, by the way...  
  
This was one of his changes. He gave a great deal of attention as well to his school material. He looked at his desk, with all his books and notes organized, from his first school day till the last term. He was also revising many subjects (he found himself even reviewing potion formulas, one of the things he hated the most). He actually discovered, surprised, a great distraction on doing this. 'So, Hermione, found your secret at last', he thought to himself, laughing. Everything else, his clothes, personal possessions, have been carefully placed inside the wardrobe and his school trunk. He didn't know whether he liked his room like that, but he had to admit that it looked like someone was actually living in it, and that was progress.  
  
But the most significant change was about the people he was living with: Harry decided that, as long as he had to live there for a certain period of the year, he would try to act politely with his uncle and aunt (but not his cousin; that would be "way" too much). Not that they weren't being nice; since the last time they went to pick him up from the school train, 'something' seemed to have changed (maybe their lives being threatened by some wizards did the trick...). Life was easier, he had to admit, and that was what made him take one of the most sadder decisions of his life: writing to his friends and saying he would spend the rest of the holidays with his "family" (it actually wounded him to say that). The Dursleys were obviously intrigued (actually, "intrigued" was a soft expression to their states of mind): 'What are you up to, boy? Staying here? I thought you had friends...' his uncle Vernon spitted out, the day Harry announced his decision (he said loads of other stuff, but they flew from one ear to another when they reached Harry). They were convinced in the end: the prospect of not having to meet any wizards blasting trough the room at any minute during the summer seemed to calm their minds a lot.  
  
He didn't expect his friends to understand the situation any better: even because Harry was being extremely lazy about talking to them: he promised he would write from three to three days, what by the way, he actually was doing.... from three to three days, he wrote a couple of lines, saying he was fine, he was treated well... and that was pretty much it. No questions made, no answers given. He even asked his friends not to call him from telephones. Harry had his reasons for it; none that they could possibly wonder (well, maybe a few...), but he would need time to explain them... until then, he just hoped that they would understand and respect his wishes. Not that they didn't complain: Hermione, for an example, had given him immediate answer, and not in the fraternal tone she always seemed to use:  
  
"How can you say that? Staying with them? Look Harry, if these lacks of information you've been giving me and Ron are a way to payback for last holidays, fine, we got the joke! And it ain't funny! We had our reasons (as you better have yours!), and we are really worried. I mean, they couldn't force you to stay there (which would be the only reasonable explanation), and you can't possibly want to hang in there... ah, you know what! That's fine. Stay. Maybe we can meet at Diagon Alley (last week free, will you?). And try to write with more 'content' before the term begins, ok?" Sincerely, Hermione  
  
Ron's letter was a lot different. Although a bit upset, he must have seen Harry's intentions right trough (he was always amazed with this "wisdom moments" of his friend). He said he would miss someone to talk about Quidditch (since everyone around seemed to be way too busy...), but that 'they would meet when they would meet'. He also said he'd go to Diagon Alley at the last week of the holidays. Harry's heart sank. He knew they would kill him for it, but he already had other plans. And the brown owl standing in his window confirmed his thoughts.  
  
Harry, at the end of the last term, made a secret requirement for Prof. Minerva (the only one he thought that would understand; or at least, listen): he asked that, as soon as she had her hands in his OWL results, she sent him an owl from the school, also containing an earlier sent list of sixth year material (that was supposed to come way later), so that he could 'speed things up' during the holidays. The professor, obviously a bit stunned (not to say distrustful), took a thought about the idea and (Harry could swear it!) gave him a "very" small smile before accepting it: 'But don't you think this will become usual!' she warned him, her severe tone rising again. Harry remembered that day really well. That was when many of the twisted thoughts in his head began to line up (or something remotely like that). By that time, he was thinking about staying a bit longer in the Dursleys already. 'It's a necessary evil', he said to himself. 'They'll get it, sooner or later'. He walked to the window and retrieved the letter from the owl's leg. Even with the rain, the package was completely clean. 'Impervius spell, probably.' He watched as the owl spread her wings and disappeared again in the cloudy afternoon sky. He began to read in no time:  
  
Harry Potter,  
  
As you kindly required me, here are your OWL test results. I must say I'm quite impressed... seems like Auror carrier won't be such a dead-end track as Ms. Umbridge might have believed... You'll find the material list for this year in the attached parchment. I hope you have a good holiday, and be aware that this year's term will begin... well, I believe you know the rest. And take some care, will you Potter?  
  
Prof. Minerva McGonagall  
  
Astronomy: E  
  
Herbology: E  
  
Care of Magical Creatures: E  
  
Potions: O ('the analyzer must've got easy on me... although it was a rough exam...')  
  
Transfiguration: E ('Professor Minerva must have liked this...')  
  
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O (with complements from the evaluation board...'Wow!')  
  
History of Magic: P ('I never finished that anyway...)  
  
Divination: A ('even pretending, I went well... will I have to keep doing it?')  
  
Charms: E  
  
Harry felt a great satisfaction... he went better than he could have ever dreamed! According to the list, he would need a basic spellbook, like in any other year, from Miranda Goshawk, only. The rest of the classes did not require a thing. Smiling a bit, he quickly made an inventory of other things he might need to get before the term. His plan already in mind, he went down to the first-floor as his aunt Petunia called him for dinner (he ate before them, but didn't care at all; preferred it that way, actually). Later, he went up, rested a while and started some pull-ups (he was using a bar installed at the top of his door, originally bought for Dudley, but unused for obvious reasons...). When he couldn't take it anymore, he took out his clothes and fell asleep in seconds. He, once more, didn't dream. The exercises and the Occlumency practice (that he decided to get serious about...) were finally kicking in.  
  
Harry woke up way early the next morning (the first rays of light were bursting trough the thin morning air, although the sun would take a bit longer to rise) and proceeded as he planned. He took a shower, made himself a quick breakfast (it was a Saturday; the Dursleys were still heavily asleep; and even if they weren't, they had installed sound-proof doors in their rooms... Hedwig, at last, could make her concerts in Harry's bedroom and no one but him cared anymore) and went back to his bedroom. He filled a backpack with his clothes (he folded clothes for his aunt all his life; 'It actually works', he thought, as everything went in without a problem.). He brushed his teeth very quiet and went down. Left a note at the door and got out on the street, heading to the only other house he knew in the neighborhood. Waiting already up for him was Mrs. Figg.  
  
'Hello, Harry. Come in, come in.' She said, quickly opening the door. 'I got the message from your owl last night, and let me say, what a beautiful owl indeed!' She was very different from the Mrs. Figg he once knew. He went to visit her a few times this summer, still pretending to the Dursleys he hated being there, that she had required his help so he had to go. The truth was that, even with the fact that she was a Squib, it was good having someone around that knew his world, that was up to the news. She kept going: 'Are you sure you want to do this, dear? It seems a bit risky.'  
  
'Nothing to worry, Mrs. Figg. Believe me. I'm not going to do anything crazy. I just need to do some shopping. But I need your hearth to get to the Alley. That, of course, if it's alright with you', he added. She was, actually a very nice old lady (when she had the screws in the right places, anyway... Harry remembered like if it was the day before: when Mundungus Fletcher abandoned his watch over Harry - as he should be right about now as well; Harry didn't know how far Dumbledore's watch over him was still like, and Mrs. Figg didn't discuss that with him - she acted like a crazy old hag; fortunately, she wasn't like that at all times). She smiled with her answer: 'If my kid had your manners... but that's another story, long and boring. I suppose that it wouldn't be a problem if you went to the Diagon Alley. After all, no one's going to try anything there... and don't worry,' she blinked, before Harry even made the request: 'I'll keep it of my reports till you're back. But just in case, one of my cats will follow you from distance, so it won't bother you, and I'm not open for negotiations!' They both laughed; Harry found out (a bit shocked with himself) that he was extremely glad to have her around. She made his existence in Privet Drive quite bearable sometimes.  
  
She walked him to the hearth. The sun was almost getting up at that time of the morning.  
  
'I left a note at the Dursleys saying I'd be here. If they call... tell that I went to the market for you or something like that.'  
  
'Good thinking.' She gave him two apples ('In case you get hungry!') and extended a bit of Floo Powder to his hand.  
  
'Guess I'll see you later. Thanks for everything, Mrs. Figg.' Peter, the cat, was already at his side.  
  
'No problem, Potter. Don't take too long, will ya?' 'I won't'. He looked at her one last second and said loudly: 'Diagon Alley!'  
  
He didn't misspell it this time. With the cool flames around him, he felt everything twist for a second, before he was at an enlightened room, extremely large, with at least eight or nine other empty hearths. He noticed that there was no dust in his clothes; Raising his eyes, he read the golden sign at the door a few steps ahead:  
  
"Diagon Alley Entrance. If you appeared here, all the other hearths in the Alley were occupied or blocked at the time. But you're surely at the right place. Please step trough and have a nice day!  
  
He opened the door, and found himself out of a building close to the Leaky Cauldron. Even at this time of the morning, and at the middle of the holidays, there was still a considerable crowd walking around the streets, as the stores were opening their doors. Harry held his backpack in one shoulder, ate a piece of apple and turned to the yellow-eyed cat aside him.  
  
'Well, Peter - he said smiling - what do you say?'  
  
The cat made a high jump, aiming the top of a trash can - then a large box, another one even larger - and then he found himself up in the roof of a house, from where Harry heard him purring, staring at him. He didn't seem up to small talk. Harry smiled again.  
  
'What a bodyguard!'. He ate another piece of apple and started to walk, losing himself in the street... 


	2. Chapter II

Writer's note: thanks to Star06 and Serena, for the reviews... on what concerns the fact that the reviews can't be anonimous, haven't got a clue on how to make it otherwise. And I do believe that if you want to review something, there's nothing wrong on identifying your review... in any case, I changed some sentences on the first chapter (only a few things I found when I read it again), and the second is here. The third is actually ready, I'm revising it for errors...  
  
Mail me if there's anything you need to clarify. Good reading!  
  
CHAPTER II: Meetings in the Alley  
  
Harry had planned that day a lot during the summer. Revising everything in his head, he started to walk, and entered four different stores. Three of them he knew really well: Madam Malkin's, Flourish and Blotts, and Quality Quidditch Supplies. The fourth one was a shop he knew just from passing trough it a few times (he met a lot of the Alley before he started his third year), but he heard that the owner of the establishment could make wonders to broken magical artifacts. In every store, he wrote down a few values, and went out. Since there were much less people than the usual, he noticed no one recognized him (he arranged his hair to cover up the scar), except for Madam Malkin herself (that kindly didn't make a noise about it). After that, he went straight to Gringotts Bank. He accessed his vault and retrieved only the necessary money for all that he needed. Although there was still a great fortune from what his parents left him with, he didn't want to spend a nuke more than he should.  
  
Taking care not to find Bill Weasley (he remembered he was now working there in London), he left Gringotts and headed back. His first stop was at Madam Malkin, that helped him in person; he donated all his former Hogwarts clothes ('Give them to someone who needs it; or maybe you can reuse the material,' he said to her) and required a whole new set (he grew a little since last year, and everything was getting a bit too small). He also requested that she 'adjusted' his Muggle clothes with a bit of magic (everyone that once belonged to Dudley), so that they would fit him better; he was tired of walking around looking like a child in the clothes of an elephant. For his surprise (and gratitude), Madam Malkin did it all for free: 'Donating his clothes... what a heart!', he heard her say as she took his clothes for adjusting.  
  
With the promise of retrieving everything in one hour or two, he went to the remaining places. He bought his spellbook for sixth grade ('Amazing how these things get heavier every year'), and a few decent replacement twigs for his broom. At last, he went back to Mr. Maul's - Fine Craftsman. He found the man that helped him before and showed him his godfather's knife (that melted during his quest at the Ministry) to see if it could be fixed (he didn't know exactly why, but he needed to do that; he felt that knife was some kind of bond that he just refused to lose with Sirius...). The employee, after a few close looks, said that the only thing he could do was melt the remaining metal again and forge some sort of penknife with the same effects of the old item, if Harry wanted. Harry accepted, and asked the man to engrave in the blade the initials of Sirius. He would return in a while to pick it up (the forging process would be accelerated with magic, and that would also give more strength to the shards of metal).  
  
He spent some time walking, till he found a small wall where he sat unnoticed and watched the movement in the small square placed inside the Diagon Alley. The sun indicated it should be about 10 am already. He looked at the people moving around, saw a father carrying his son in the arms... he saw that little world existing aside the cold Muggles' world. He thought about its balance, how it should be protected. Then, his prophecy came to his mind. He had been avoiding that as hard as he could during the summer. 'Sooner or later, one of us will die... maybe both...' He heard Voldemort's laugh echoing in his head... he saw Sirius smiling at him... he saw Dumbledore, his hands over his face... Harry's sensation of never making choices in his life was growing again. It seemed easy for him to see that his life was always orientated, either by the Dursleys, or Dumbledore, or Voldemort... he lured him to that trap last year... Harry felt guilty, foolish, stupid... that would never happen again... Harry would make sure it wouldn't...  
  
As soon as he drove himself out of his own head, a several amount of time have passed. He went to Madam Malkin ('Everything set, dear. Clothes adjusted and folded. Come back when you need anything!') Harry used the store's bathroom to get rid of his robe and dress a black T-shirt and equally black jeans ('Merlin's beard, I used to float inside this!'). He tied his shoes, got everything inside his backpack (the twigs and the book fitted, now that the clothes took less space) and went to Mr. Maul's. He received (from Mr. Maul himself and not the employee; he was obviously pleased with his own work) the penknife (it was now one of those models where the hand was divided in two pieces that covered laterally the blade; it looked like a strange metal stick when the blade was hidden. The hand was made in silver, decorated with a small lion-shaped drawing, made with black opal. Harry paid, said 'Thanks once again' and left, the knife in his jeans pocket... he felt Sirius at his side that moment...  
  
As he began to eat a piece from his second apple (thanking Mrs. Figg for her concern...), Harry took a deep breath: considering all the possibilities of failure in his plan, he believed he was doing well. After all, only Madam Malkin had been able to identify him. He anticipated that Prof. Minerva might warn his friends or anyone from the Order about his 'rush-shopping', but apparently she didn't; there were no signs of Hermione, Ron or any Aurors around in a mile (and he checked his surroundings very carefully during his journey); she must have assumed that he would tell them himself about it. He even managed to make a good distance from Fred and George's shop (that was in a patch he didn't have to pass trough), but couldn't help to smile when he saw the great number of people walking in and out of it, with the corner of his eye. Even with the temptation of talking to them burning in his heart, he knew that they wouldn't keep his visit to the Alley a secret; even if they could do it to Ron, he knew they couldn't do the same with Mrs. Weasley.  
  
With his mind a bit lighter, he began to wonder what sort of thing he would have to eat at the Dursleys in order to support Dudley's diet. And then, as he began his slow journey back to the hearth that brought him in the first place, his heart missed a beat, only to reacquire it fast. At the external tables in Florean Fortescue's store, he saw Cho Chang sitting with some Ravenclaw friends. He couldn't see her face, but Harry knew it was her. For what he could see, she was the only one that didn't have a date at her side, since her friends (including Marietta Edgecombe) were all right next to some boys he only knew from sight. 'Strange, what about Corner and her?' he wondered.  
  
Harry analyzed the situation; he hadn't been spotted yet from anyone in the table, and she wouldn't be able to see him pass behind her. 'And even if she did', he thought to himself: 'What difference would it make? We're not together, we're not even speaking to each other since we argued about Marietta.' He wished her nothing but happiness (she deserved it)... but he just assumed (for his own peace of mind) that he wasn't the man granted with this honor. And so, still thinking about the meal in the Dursleys, he continued walking. He took another piece of the apple and was starting to wonder where Peter was, when:  
  
'Hi, Harry!'  
  
He almost threw the piece of apple in the air. Turning around slowly, he saw a blond little girl, waving at him. She was giving her other hand to an older girl, a bit shorter than Harry, also blond-haired, with deep-blue eyes and a great smile; they were heading towards him. He couldn't help to smile back with his answer: 'Hi, Fleur! And Hi, Gabrielle!'  
  
Fleur Delacour gave him a hug as they got close, which he corresponded. He didn't feel nervous at all; in fact, for some reason, meeting her was something he wasn't barely ashamed of. As they separated, Harry saw, with the corner of his eyes, that many of the people on the street were looking at him right now ('She said my name out loud... well, that's pretty much it for the "keeping a low-profile" plan...'); Cho, for example, had turned her head completely and was now staring at them, silent. Still, Harry pretended not to note it.  
  
'So how are you? It's been a while.'  
  
'It has indeed.' She was smiling again. 'I'm fine... you don't look bad yourself.'  
  
'Well... I'm still pretty much the same...' he said.  
  
They fell both silent, staring at each other. It was hard to say what they were thinking. Finally, Gabrielle gave a little laugh and broke the ice. She said a few things in French (and Fleur replied in French as well), and then the little girl ran back to Gringotts, waving at Harry one last time.  
  
'What happened?'  
  
'Oh, she just went to stay with my mother. They came to visit me today...'she explained softly.  
  
'That's right... I heard you were working here...' Harry said.  
  
'Heard from who?' Fleur raised her eyebrows...  
  
He felt his face a little red: 'Uh... I just heard it somewhere... anyway, your English have improved a lot. Not that it wasn't good... but now it's perfect!' He said smiling at her.  
  
'Oh... you really think so? Thank you Harry.' She smiled back and looked around a bit, but Harry noticed that she seemed to be holding something back.  
  
'Is everything alright, Fleur?' there was a genuine tone of worry in his voice. She seemed to notice.  
  
'Well... I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask, and feel free to refuse, but... are you in a hurry?'  
  
'Not exactly. What do you have in mind?' He couldn't believe how easy this conversation was going.  
  
'We could, well... I don't know. Would you like to drink something? There's a really good bar right there.' (she pointed at a small place near from where Cho and her friends have been staring at them, talking to each other in low voices. They all turned back at once when they saw them looking their way. Both Harry and Fleur noticed. They couldn't help to laugh.  
  
Harry finally said: 'Seems like we're drawing too much attention... but I suppose I do have some time... and it would be great if we could talk a bit, it's been so long since the Triwizard... but I'm paying, no discussions!' He thought to himself: 'Well, my camouflage is gone, and she really seems to wanna talk. Better than staying at the Dursleys, that's for sure.'  
  
Fleur's face lit up in a smile. 'Really? Ok, shall we go then?'  
  
As they walked to what seemed like a small coffee shop, Harry took the care to stare at Fleur at all the time; not much for the fact that she was still really beautiful, but mostly because he wanted to avoid having to talk to Cho right now... he knew he would have to, but it just wasn't the time. They sat in the chairs outside the store. A magical table appeared between them. A bartender came up, the face of someone who has seen almost everything in life - and didn't like much of it.  
  
'What do you want?' Harry asked Fleur.  
  
'Hmmm... just a coffee.'  
  
'With this heat? Are you sure?'  
  
'I got used to it... really!'  
  
'Well... one coffee for her, and a glass of water for me. Oh, some ice on it, please.'  
  
Now Fleur was the one to make a comment, laughing as she spoke: 'It isn't such a hot day...'  
  
'Yeah, but at my Muggle relatives I'm not used to drinking anything else... he suddenly stood silent. 'Anyway, you don't want to hear about my holidays in there...'  
  
'Why not?' She suddenly had an empathic tone in her voice.  
  
'Believe me, there's nothing great about it. I want to hear about you. How's everything? The job... are you living around here?' He seemed do dodge the subject well.  
  
'Oh, it's wonderful. It's pretty much a desk job, but is suits for my purpose of learning English... and according to you, I'm making progresses...'  
  
'That you really are.'  
  
'But I still load a bit on my accent.' She seemed disappointed.  
  
'That's just part of your charm. Don't lose it...' Harry was petrified, but did not show. 'Did I actually say that?', he thought to himself.  
  
Fleur seemed to love the complement, though. 'That's very sweet, Harry. Thanks.'  
  
The silence ruled between them once again. Gladly, the bartender brought their requests. After some sips, Fleur seemed ready to follow:  
  
'I'm actually living in London... a really good apartment, it's close from here. It's a bit small, but I like it that way... feels like my own little world sometimes... oh, sorry - she looked at her hands - I lost myself a bit...'  
  
'No, not at all... I quite understand what you say... a place where you feel safe... a place that is yours and yours alone... something like that?' Harry asked her.  
  
'Yes, I believe that would be a definition just as good...' she kept looking at her hands.  
  
Harry still felt that she was holding back on something. He decided to straight things up:  
  
'Forgive me if I'm wrong, Fleur, but we've been here for a few minutes... believe me, it's wonderful to see you again, and know that you're Ok, but...'  
  
'Yes?' She was looking at him now.  
  
'I keep getting this feeling that you have something to tell me... and you're not certain if you should bring it up. Am I right?'  
  
She suddenly lowered her eyes again. 'Is it that obvious?' she said almost in a whisper.  
  
'Common, Fleur, I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me.'  
  
She locked eyes with him. Harry didn't know what to do: after his comment, Fleur developed a sudden serenity in her eyes, that made them outstandingly pretty (much more than they were already), in a quite hypnotic way. Whatever it was, he knew it wasn't her Veela genes working: all that he knew was that if he dodged from her look, that conversation would be over. And he couldn't let it happen.  
  
'Well, Harry - she suddenly decided to speak again - it's just... oh, what the hell... I really missed talking to you, that's all.' She lowered her eyes once again. She dodged first.  
  
'Well... why is that?'  
  
'It's quite tricky to explain.' She gave the opportunity. Harry had to take the chance:  
  
'Try me.'  
  
She didn't lift her eyes. But continued to talk, her whispering tone was back:  
  
'I suppose that... it's because you never knew me... and at the same time, knew me better than anyone. I know it sounds weird... but, all of my life, people were inclined to treat me in a different way... because I'm part Veela... because of my genes... because of this part of me that I can't control.' Her eyes followed the movement of the Alley, before continuing:  
  
'Because of this... "spell", many of the people I meet usually are not themselves when they're near me. That red-haired friend of yours is an example, as you must remember... I never liked that. I hate it, actually.' There was sorrow in her words. Harry felt more sympathy for her than ever before.  
  
She kept going: 'I've grown with these fear of socializing, you see... so, I created this - it seemed hard for her to say that out loud - "snooty" personality for myself. I thought that by making people step away I could be able to distinguish those who really wanted to know me... the thing is... I guess, in that process, I must have forgot who I was... or maybe I never really knew...'  
  
'When I went to Hogwarts, everything was the same. Even you must have thought I was an awful person. I didn't make many efforts to be nice... until the day we had our second task for the Triwizard. There were you, with the whole school against you, your head full of problems... and yet, you had the decency to rescue my sister and bring her back, risking your chances at the Tournament. And you always talked to me as an equal... you never stumbled in your own words... you looked at me that day like I wished to be seen all the days I lived before. Because of you, I found myself again... I dropped that "I'm superior" attitude. I became a better person...because of you.' At the same time, she seemed to feel relieved and embarrassed with her last words.  
  
The best word to describe Harry's look at that moment was "stunned". 'You... you shouldn't see me like that, Fleur. I'm not that big of a deal...' he muttered.  
  
'You're the only one that seems to think that way, though.' She was serious now. 'I read many of the articles that the Daily Prophet wrote about you...'  
  
'You shouldn't believe everything you read. All they did was write this gigantic lies about me. That Rita Skeeter started it all...'  
  
She stopped him before he went further: 'I know. Since that day at the lake, I've known. All the things they said about you... they couldn't be true.' She gave him a smile. 'But they are much more kind these days, you know.'  
  
'I stopped reading it anyway.' Harry wanted to lose that subject. Fleur got the hint and didn't complain. She lowered her eyes and proceeded: 'But you see... even if I had changed, people didn't. I'm still treated like a freak wherever I go... Bill Weasley, for example... you know him, don't you?' She asked him.  
  
Harry made an effort to look natural. He heard that Bill and her were sort of together, but didn't bring the subject up. 'Yeah, I know him.'  
  
'He was helping me with my English. He works here now. And for a while, I believed he was like you. That he was strong enough not to let the Veela charm affect him. It happens that it did. He became foolish and drowsy when we were together. That's probably why we never even began to date. I pushed him away... we are merely friends now... maybe not even that.' She lost her voice. Her eyes were sparkling with tears, all struggling to roll down her face. 'Maybe I was just born to be alone...'  
  
Harry saw Fleur like never before. She wasn't lying, or making a scene. He understood her... in a different way, he experienced that sensation many times. Out of a sudden, Harry took her hand in his. They locked eyes again. Harry, with the most tender tone he could achieve in his voice, began to speak:  
  
'What you need to understand, Fleur, is that you have Veela blood running in your veins. That is a part of you as much as anything else. And I know it must be hard, but you have to deal with it. Look at me. I'm known for something I did when I was a baby. People stop me on the street to complement me for something I have no idea how I did ('well - he thought - I do know how I did what I did... but I can't tell her that anyway!'). During the last years I've been accused of being a lying, pathetic show-of, desperate for attention. They don't know me at all... very few people do... and yet, I gotta live with it. We have to be ourselves. You can't get the Veela out of you. You just have to show to everyone you're much more than that. As I realized today that you are. Give the rest of humanity some time; they'll get it someday.'  
  
She was mute. Yet, Harry knew the words were kicking in. He continued: 'And if you were feeling like that, why didn't you write? You knew where I was... were you afraid of looking weak?' She nodded, still speechless. 'Don't be silly, Fleur... why would I think that? We all need someone to lean on sometimes. I would be glad to correspond with you. Believe me, it would have made my last term much better than it ended up to be...I can't be your boyfriend (he felt his face burn with that sentence), I can't possibly earn it, but I can be there if you need me. Always remember that.'  
  
It seemed like they reached a point where words were unnecessary over that particular subject. She was smiling at him. They were both smiling. They continued to talk happily about a variety of things for about ten or fifteen minutes, until she looked at her watch:  
  
'Oh, no... Harry, I have to get going. I have to meet mom and Gabrielle back at the bank.'  
  
'Yeah, well, I should be going too...' he said in a low tone.  
  
They got up. Harry paid for the water and the coffee, and walked Fleur to Gringotts (still avoiding to look at Cho; he didn't even know if she was still there). They were talking now as old friends. They reached the stairs of the bank.  
  
'Remember what I said. Write me if you feel like it, will you? And give Gabrielle and your mother a 'hi' for me.'  
  
'I will Harry. Say hello to that friend of yours too. I'm sure he'll appreciate it...' she giggled. 'Oh... Harry.' She called as he began his way back.  
  
He stopped. Before he knew what was happening, Fleur got near him and gave him a small kiss on the cheek, as she whispered: 'If anyone don't earn to be someone's "friend" around here, that would be "me to you", and not the other way, as you said...' She smiled again and turned on her heels, entering the bank.  
  
Harry wasn't sure what had just happened, as he was again on his way home. He talked to Fleur easily, no stumbling, no muttering... he almost didn't recognize himself back there. He resisted her Veela side... another power he didn't know he had... 'Whatever I'm doing, I must be doing it right.' He noticed he didn't care about his 'camouflage' anymore. He talked to her for many minutes in that place. If he was to be seen, he certainly already had been. He didn't noticed if Cho was still in the square when he passed trough it again. As he finally arrived at the building from where he came, Harry instantly searched the surroundings for Peter. He discovered, amazed, that the cat was already aside him. They chose a hearth (the place was, again, empty). Harry served himself of some Floo Powder standing by a corner of the room and suddenly, he was back at Mrs. Figg' house.  
  
'Hello, Harry!', she said in a welcome tone. 'Everything went well?'  
  
'Perfect, Mrs. Figg. Just perfect.'  
  
'I suppose that beautiful blond girl was a part of the plan as well?' she gave him a funny look.  
  
He was surprised by her speed of 'reading the mind' of her little feline friends (or whatever it was she did to Peter that moment). Even so, he smiled:  
  
'Not a part of the plan, but still, a good thing, I guess. I should probably be going now. I'm already late for lunch. May I come to talk to you some other time?'  
  
'Most certainly, I'd love that! Come in by the evening, I'll make us a cake.'  
  
Reaching the door, Harry thanked her again for all the help, and left. He crossed the street, his mind completely empty. As he stood in front of number 4, he noticed their uncles were out, since the door was locked. He pulled Sirius's penknife and gave it a try. The lock gave a smooth 'click' and the door was open. He was glad to see it was working perfectly. There was a note by the kitchen table (they supposed that he would enter by the backdoor, using the key hidden under the carpet placed there; Harry locked the front door again, trying not to create another reason to argue them; his clothes suddenly adjusted would probably be a subject for a week of small discussions...), saying that they went to some boxing competition that Dudley was apparently in. He didn't care: they would spend all afternoon out. Harry took a knife and an orange from the basket in the kitchen and went upstairs. He dropped the backpack on his bedroom floor and laid in his bed. Closing his eyes, he smiled. That had been certainly his best day in the holidays so far, and it wasn't over yet. He gave some owl treat to Hedwig and began to peel the orange. He realized once more that he wasn't sure whether he really wanted to follow his plan all the way (his time with Fleur was amazingly healing to his soul); when he was alone, wanted company; accompanied, he longed to be alone. He got that out of his mind, as Hedwig began singing a bit for him. At that moment, he managed put his thoughts into words, staring at his white winged friend:  
  
'Trying to get yourself alone ain't easy... but sometimes it has its rewards...' 


	3. This is no goodbye see you soon is more ...

To all of you that read this so-called fic...  
  
due to some personal issues of major importance, I won't be able to continue this for now. This account will be erased and in time i'll create another one, to begin a decent fic, properly... it will be long enough to make your parents or relatives worry about your mental health.  
  
It would be stupid to cry my problems out loud round here. Even so, it is my obligation to inform about my plans for the future... I'll begin a fic that modifies the events from Book I to Book V... details will have to wait. Don't get me wrong, J. K. Rowling is a genious and all, but there are main spots that I focused on "improving" (I know it sounds snooty, but the whole purpose of writing is to feel good about it, isn't it?).  
  
Special thanks to:  
  
Star 06, who was the first to review;  
  
Serena 24, who was also very supportive;  
  
and Energeezer, who actually made a comment strong enough to make me surpass even my own expectations when I reached the next chapters of the story (it went further indeed, but since I'm planning something bigger already, you'll just have to take my word for it). Anyway, man, thanks for making me dare... all the three of you!  
  
I'll be back in some time... haven't really considered another AKA... maybe I'll just stick to my real name or something... by the way, I'm Fred.  
  
If anyone wishes to know about the fics to come, or just to make small talk, feel free to write me at the e-mail that lies written at my profile (wow, that was almost poetic...).  
  
Wish you all the best, until we meet again,  
  
Fred 


End file.
